#at the very least the rest of the tenants don't deserve to have to deal with it! holy hell

[red-bat-arse]

And to Fight Wars (AO3 Link)

Chapter 1

(Chapter 2)

(Chapter 3)

This is a oneshot I wrote (although maybe I might continue it?) where Steve moved away from Hawkins pre-canon and was made into the business heir his father wanted. However, when he's brought back to Hawkins in mid 1986 it's clear that his father was involved in something shady; because that's when he meets Eleven, trapped in a rundown lab.

*I don't do tag lists*

*

Steve hated his father.

For many reasons, not the least of which being that he was a cold hearted sonofabitch. Take your pick; he cheated on his wife; he pulled Steve away from his friends and life in Hawkins to be raised by nannies; his expectations had crushed his son under their weight for years; and he had died halfway around the world just one week before. The last one was the most pressing, as now Steve was left in charge of his business empire which, despite having the training beaten into him since he turned twelve, he'd never wanted to have to deal with in the first place.

At least now Steve could arrange for his mother to be properly cared for -yet another strike against the late Richard Harrington was that he'd abandoned Seline the year before when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Steve's mother hadn't exactly been the type for kind words or a gentle hand either, but by god, she deserved to at least go through recovery in comfort. Steve had settled it the day after he received word of the sudden death and hadn't spoken to her since, not even to arrange a funeral. Steve didn't know anyone who would want to go.

He spent the week between then and now offloading or liquidating what he could, and delegating the businesses that would be tied up for awhile, and he was exhausted. His father had known early on that getting his only son ready to inherit would require a backbreaking tutoring schedule and a firm hand on his neck, and while it had bred resentment all his life, Steve was reluctantly grateful for the skills he could now use to manage... all this.

He took a special glee in passing on the businesses his father used to be most proud or possessive over to those on the staff who he'd always scoffed at or looked down upon, whether for their disagreements with him or the fact that Steve got along with them, or both more often. Steve did tend to like people who pissed his father off, since he so rarely worked up the courage to do so himself. But yes, giving the law firm to Amanda, who'd had to deal with his father's leering for over two years now, was its own special kind of balm and well worth the lost sleep.

But, as he trudged into yet another meeting about yet another asset of his father's he hadn't known about, this part was beginning to get old. He should be happier that he would get to live the rest of his life more easily, sleeping better knowing the bastard was six feet under by now in a cheap grave, but something had him on edge. Steve was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For now it was a tenant who had been in the midst of renegotiating a renting price, which Steve could easily follow along with and win favour by doing the exact opposite of what he'd found written in Richard's notes. But he was sure that there would be something he didn't know how to handle very soon, and he didn't like being on the back foot, even hypothetically.

All he wanted to do was put his father's memory behind him and get on with his life. He was only twenty, he knew he was incredibly privileged to have the life he did, even if it had been hard in its own way -but now he could actually stop and think of a future that, maybe, could make him happy. A future he could be proud to talk about to a stranger in a bar, instead of shame faced deflection as he did now.

Of course, meeting with government people did not make things easy, which came about the very next day. Or, Steve reevaluated as he noticed the lack of identifying marks on any of the shirts, briefcases or letterheads of these people, maybe not the government. He knew his father had to have dealings with underground and other shady types, and those would take longer to dig out than anything legitimate. Thanks to his mother, he had experience with that as well.

"Given your father was so involved, we would be grateful to be considered for continued funding, Mr Harrington," the small, mousy looking man across the table from him was saying. They were using the office his father had kept in the city, on the top floor of the building for the shipping business he owned. "Our research is coming along quite well despite some recent delays, and given your father was looking to partner with us to bring it to the United States military, I'm confident it will produce the profit to pay back your investment twice over."

Steve frowned, not liking the sound of that. The mere suggestion of dealing with the government made him wary, and he could hear his maternal uncles scoff in his head at the evidence coming to light that Richard would have tied himself up in anything so official. Seline had taught Steve better.

"Well, Mr... Drab?"

The man's face pinched, "Drabbé, please."

"Noted," Steve smiled politely, "Well, you see, there's almost no record at all of your business partnering with mine. My father had many faults, and keeping records was one of them," it was funny to watch Mr Drab's face blanch at the casually insulting way he described Richard. "You see, I don't even know what it is you're developing. You can't expect me to put my money into a product on pure faith, can you? Do you think I'm stupid?"

Steve couldn't help the real bitterness that crept into his voice, even as he kept his smile pasted on. If there was one thing Richard Harrington had loved to throw at Steve all day, every day they saw each other, it was 'stupid'. Sure, Steve couldn't do math in his head or read for very long without getting a headache, and he hadn't gotten accepted to any colleges when he applied his senior year of high school, but he knew how to read people. Drab was panicking, both about the accusation Steve levied at him of an insult, but also it seemed at the fact Steve was questioning what this 'Project MKUltra' even was. Steve definitely had the feeling he'd found the other shoe with this.

"Of course not, Mr Harrington, my deepest apologies!" he rushed to say, wringing his hands. "You must understand, it was so unexpected to hear of your father's death. We've been developing this project in completely privacy for so long, the secrecy has gotten to be routine. Of course you would need to be aware of the project's specifics in order to be as committed a donor as Mr Harrington Sr was, of course."

"Of course," Steve tapped a finger on the upholstery of the chair he was sitting in while he contemplated whether he should look into this or drop the entire thing like a hot coal. However, in his experience the latter might get some angry people at his door about the loss of money with no cause, so at the very least he could see what had his father so enamoured. "I trust you'll arrange for me to see what my father invested in before I make my decision then? I'd like to get the whole picture."

Drab paled a couple shades, but he managed to squeak out a promise to call the next week with a verdict, so Steve considered it settled. He walked out of that meeting with a sour taste in his mouth and a mental note to have a copy of his updated will sent to Amanda before he agreed to go anywhere with these people.

*

The fact the project was being developed in Hawkins Indiana was like being slapped in the face, and Steve couldn't help but stare out the window at the foreign-familiar surroundings as his driver made their way through the town. It was eerie, all the parts he remembered overlaid in his mind on top of the wreckage from the earthquake several months ago that had yet to be fully cleaned up. There was the elementary school, same as he'd last seen all those years ago but now with a great crack straight through the parking lot. There was the movie theatre, half the sign pulled off to the side of the building and the doors blocked up, the letters of the new releases from March still hanging from the boards.

At least he knew why his father had kept the house all these years with no one living there. Steve couldn't remember if Hawkins even had a motel within city limits.

The documents beside Steve on the seat were illuminating, and put him in a far more important position than Mr Drab had made it seem in the privacy of his father's office. In actuality, along with being the primary donor for the entire project, Richard Harrington had simply owned most of it as well, from the buildings it was hosted in to the shipping company it used for its materials to the various services which stocked it with food and laundry and office supplies at regular intervals throughout the month. Steve essentially owned this project, whatever it may be, and his father may have been a bastard, but in this case he was a smart one. Each contract was air tight in a way Steve could plainly see even on a cursory read, and they risked heavy fines and black listing if they tried to move away from those services without a completed sign off from the CEO, which officially made this Steve's problem.

Steve's driver followed along behind their escort, a nondescript black car that looked even more out of place for trying so hard not to stand out, and he gripped his hands into fists as they rolled out of the downtown and into an industrial area he wasn't familiar with. The large office building they pulled up to run by 'the Department of Energy' was one he'd only ever seen from afar as a child, and coming here now did not exactly leave him feeling welcomed back. In fact, it felt more like he was being watched.

"Mr Harrington, its a pleasure to meet you," in the lobby he was greeted by a slick looking older man, who's hand he shook when offered. "I'm sorry if we appear a little scattered today, there's still some... after effects from the earthquake we're dealing with. Nothing to worry about for yourself, however."

"...and you are?" Steve found himself perturbed by some aspect of the man's behaviour, though he couldn't pinpoint what, so he defaulted to his usual -bluntness often put people off enough to drop whatever fake act they were doing.

"Dr Brenner, we spoke on the phone," he said, face strained a little. That was good, it would be better in the long run if these people thought he was just some vapid rich kid they had to win over or convince to sign of on them breaking contract. Steve didn't like the way the secretaries were watching them from the front desk like they were nervous. "I'm afraid due to those after effects I mentioned, we're a bit behind -the practical demonstrations will mostly have to wait until tomorrow or the next. But we can go to my office and discuss, and maybe you can see a small part of what we're building here before you retire."

No, Steve did not like this man. But he agreed to the new timeline and followed him into the elevator, unsurprised when one of the doormen came in behind them in.

Brenner's office was several stories underground, which told Steve exactly which kind of shady business his father had been dabbling in behind his back. Grandfather would be rolling in his grave, he thought derisively, as they exited the elevator and walked through dimly lit hallways, past various unmarked doors, until they reached one at the end of a hall that was wood instead of steel. Evidently even Brenner liked his comforts in the midst of what was looking to be a project desperate for money.

Brenner opened up the conversation bluntly -he explained as he passed Steve a printed copy of the NDA he'd signed a few days ago that 'MKUltra' was an experimental study, dedicated to producing abilities in its subjects that would be on the frontlines of the next war. It took remembering every smack across the face from his mother for Steve to keep a neutral expression as Brenner produced several folders from his desk and slid them over so Steve could flip through.

The first was objectively horrifying, and if he was a weaker man Steve may have allowed the churning in his gut at some of the pictures to outwardly show. Eighteen children, ranging from eight to seventeen, apparently, had been part of the first trials in the 60s, and all but one had died during some manner of redacted incident in 79. Brenner spoke like a proud, yet grieved parent about the wasted potential of the group and how it was after that tragedy that Steve's father had really helped the lab financially recover from the loss.

"We've been able to rebuild the last few years," Brenner tapped the next folder. "There have been a few... strange incidents in the area, leaving a number of individuals too changed to return to regular life. We're helping to rehabilitate and harness their unique gifts so they can be productive members of society one day."

"And to fight wars," Steve said.

"Yes, we can't let the Soviets get anything over on us," Brenner nodded, tapping the folder again. "Go on, I think you'll find our latest tests quite interesting! Your father certainly-"

"Please don't compare me to my father," Steve said, trying not to snap. The other man apologized, and Steve took a slow breath through his nose before he did as he'd asked and looked.

Five individuals this time, each with a small description helpfully placed next to their designated number -Steve needed to take another breath when he registered the fact that he was sitting in a place that seemed perfectly content to label children with numbers rather than names.

'011' was the last survivor of the first group, who was apparently psychic, telekinetic and could 'manipulate portals', whatever that meant, although it took a toll on her body. '019' had been taken in three years ago, and had limited empathic abilities as well as prophetic dreams, but the more of those he triggered, the less he was able to move on his own. '020' and '021' were brought in at the same time last summer, and they were mentally linked together but unfortunately the most unstable of the five, with lingering feral tendencies from being controlled by something, again, redacted. Then '022' had come here less than six months ago, ostensibly for medical treatment for rather extensive injuries, but then it was found out she too had developed 'portal manipulation' as well as rudimentary clairvoyance such as being able to detect lies.

He could not do anything drastic, he told himself as he glanced up to see Brenner waiting for him to say something, a smirk on his face like he was used to people telling him how impressive it all was, rather than what Steve wanted to do, which was far less polite. No, he had to actually think this through rather than rush in like a fool, no matter what his instincts were.

"Yes, impressive. Fantastical, even," Steve said with just the amount of doubt he wanted peeking through, which brought Brenner up short. "I'm sorry, but telekinesis? Linked minds?"

"You'll see them in working order in a day or two, Mr Harrington," Brenner looked decidedly unhappy at being undermined. "As well as my dear Eleven today, as her telekinesis is the most easy to observe. The work we are doing here is legitimate and will benefit the United States for generations to come!"

"I see. Tell me about your plans for the future for both if I choose to continue my support or cease it," Steve placed the folder back on the table, eyes lingering on the photo of 'Eleven' next to the description of her abilities. Her hair was dark and growing in curly around her ears, and she stared at the camera with a blank expression that made Steve think of mug shots and old pictures of people in sanitariums from history books. As Brenner went into detail on both proposed budgets, Steve still felt sick.

It was odd that he was being brought in to view these secret experiments so quickly after his father's death, with only an NDA as a visible buffer to prevent him from going out and reporting the whole operation to the police. But Steve, as said previously, wasn't stupid -he was simply his mother's son and more suited to the line of work his Rinaldi cousins were in the thick of. This wasn't so different from his lessons when he visited grandfather in Marseille after he turned eighteen, nor of some of the business he'd had to deal with the last few weeks while taking over for his father properly.

If Brenner had been conducting these experiments since the 60s, but only needed private funding after this unknown incident in 79, he likely once had governmental ties that were cut upon such a catastrophic event that lost them seventeen children. The man was likely completely rogue now, made more plausible by the fact his 'Energy Department' building wasn't owned or run by any government agency, and all the contracted employees commuted from the next town over. Not that there were enough employees to fill the building -Steve's father had owned the company that ran out of the first floor, and the floors above were sealed against entry.

If Brenner was this eager to have Steve here and secure either funding or a complete cut off, they must have been in dire need. The conditions in these underground hallways were enough that Steve would say so. But he must have a reason for being confident Steve wouldn't talk after he left the premises -was it that he was delusional and thought Steve was a carbon copy of his father? Did he buy into the disinterested rich boy act he played up?

Or, as they exited the office over an hour later and that same doorman from before fell into step behind them silently, did Brenner simply trust that he had employees ready and willing to threaten Steve into compliance should he seem like he was going to break the NDA? His father hadn't given this place enough extra cash to manage bribes even to small town police, but the security company they outsourced to was no joke. But he was positive the name of the head of the security team was a man who'd worked with one of his uncles in the past, so maybe he would have luck appealing to him -he could spin it to Brenner as conducting a random review of personnel, well within his right as the owner of the building and technically the CEO of the company upstairs. He'd think it over tonight.

The room Brenner led him to was painted with rainbows and looked big enough to hold far more than the five teenagers and young adults they claimed to host. For now there were only two other people inside -a tall security guard near the door wearing a bullet proof vest of all things, and the very girl from the folder Steve had reviewed in the office. She looked even worse than in the photo; pale and thin, her hair had been shown nearly to the quick recently, and she looked up at Brenner and Steve with a carefully blank face, but he saw the way her entire body tensed and leaned away from them. Brenner touched her shoulder without pause and she stilled instantly, and Steve felt his anger grow stronger, simmering under his bored facade. There was some strange metal contraption around her neck with wires and an honest to god lock pad.

He met Eleven's eyes and although he was doubtful, he knew what her file description said and tried to project calm and concern in her direction, though she gave no indication if she picked up on it or not.

Brenner clapped his hands together once, making both Steve and Eleven flinch, "My dear Eleven, this is Mr Harrington, our benefactor," Steve frowned, but bit his tongue against the presumption, instead intently watching how the girl responded to Brenner's words and being in her space. She was incredibly still and did not move save for her eyes briefly flitting from Steve to Brenner to the guard, then back to Steve. "I'd like it if you would show him your abilities, it's very important that he see you perform well since you have the easiest time of all your siblings."

The hand on Eleven's shoulder gripped tight and Steve felt his face go hot with fury; Eleven's eyes suddenly snapped up to meet his again, and this time it was much harder to reign that emotion in so to send her only concern and calm. By the furrow to her brow, he maybe wasn't succeeding.

Steve glanced at Brenner, then moved down to kneel in front of Eleven, ignoring the way the guard shifted by the door. He picked up a small toy from the table, just a wooden train, and held it out until Eleven reached up to take it -he had to strike the right balance here.

"Why don't you make this float, yeah?" he said quietly, level, while in his mind he thought hard on one question -'Do you want to leave this place?' Eleven's gaze bored into his like she really could read his mind or something, and she held the train in the palm of her hand for a quiet minute, concentrating.

Her nose started bleeding the moment the train floated back over to Steve's waiting hands. As he took it from the air, he shivered as an unfamiliar voice rang through his brain, clear as a bell.

'Not without the others.'

Steve nodded and stood, hoping he didn't look as shaken as he felt while he turned away from the girl like he was already dismissing her entirely. "Amazing," he said, and tried to think about how his father would've reacted. "If this can be done to others, there's no question of our getting a leg up on the USSR."

Eleven ducked her head.

"More than a leg up, I'd say. Just wait until you see Twenty!" Brenner seemed much more confident now that Steve had seen a little proof of his outlandish claims, and he reached down to pat at Eleven's shoulder again. Steve allowed himself to look, watching as Eleven wiped the blood from her nose and shuffled away from where Brenner was standing, hands resting unobtrusively on her lap.

As he let Brenner lead him out of the room and over to the elevator, her voice followed him like a shadow in the back of his mind, the way the steadiness in her eyes had cracked for a split second when she realized he'd heard her response.

Whatever was going on here, Steve was going to do something about it.

*

The town was strange, on edge. He directed his escort to bring him to the department store and then the grocers, picking up fresh bedding and towels, toiletries and enough food for a week's stay -each place he went to, that feeling of being watched continued. When he allowed himself an extra minute in the pharmacy aisle to look over the pain meds they had to offer, he heard whispering close by and when he chanced a look, the women turned away fast and hurried along. Checking out, the cashier stared straight at him and pointedly ignored the escort who had come in behind him save for a poisonous glare when she first noticed; she did a small double take when he handed her his ID for the medication he was buying.

"Harrington? Like the steel company?" she handed it back and started ringing through the rest of his items.

"Right. My family lived here a few years back," he tried to give her a charming smile, but he was acutely aware of the man three steps behind him. "I was pretty young, so I don't remember much."

She looked very tired, but laughed a little. "A bad time to come back, then. Be careful driving, most of the side streets are still riddled with cracks."

"I'll be sure to, thanks," he handed her the bills and asked she keep the change, and walked out, deeply annoyed with the escort now that it was clear his presence was off-putting to people in the community.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cashier through the front window put a sign on her register and hurry away to the back.

The drive to the old Harrington house was quiet, but mostly familiar. The earthquake hadn't hit the west side of the town as badly as the rest, apparently, so the driver didn't have to detour nearly as far as on the way in from the airport. Steve's former neighborhood was largely unchanged -new gardens, new cars, new paint on the houses, but the shape of it was the same, the families and children and wide stretches of green between each lot. The first time he'd tried to invite Tommy H over after school the other boy had given up halfway there, not used to riding such long distances on his bike.

The house looked exactly the same as the day he left, maybe a little duller from time, the garden not as lush as he used to see it, but very little had been updated in the last ten years. He half expected to hear his father's booming voice chastising him for being late when he made it up to the front door.

"You're free to go," he dismissed once the driver had deposited some of his bags in the front foyer, Steve setting the groceries further into the hall. The house was oddly warm for this time of the fall. "Brenner has my number. He can call when he's decided if the practical demonstrations will be held tomorrow or the next."

The driver shifted uncomfortably. "Dr Brenner has asked that we be allowed to accompany you until then, Mr Harrington."

Steve's eyebrows rose, incredulous. "I'm sorry, but regardless of business secrecy I won't be having strangers in my home."

"Mr Harrington, we really should be close, there have been a number of criminals taking advantage of the earthquakes-"

"Thanks, for your concern," Steve didn't often like being rude to people who were obviously low down the job hierarchy, just doing what they were told, but this entire day had left him with a sour taste in his mouth and a mounting anger he was itching to let loose. "But do I look incapable of handling myself to you? Do I look like I need a babysitter to watch out for whatever poor people have been so left in the lurch by these earthquakes they've probably already been here and gone months ago?" he gestured to his body, the one aspect of himself his father hadn't ever deemed worthy of comment, so long as he retained his captaincy of his school's basketball and swimming teams. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, and if I see either car lingering on the street I'll call the police. Respectfully."

His escort bobbed his head, and Steve did feel bad at the speed he left the house but was more grateful to be left alone so he could figure out what the hell he was going to do about this entire, awful situation. He left his suitcase and sundries in the hall and picked up the bags with perishables, making his way to where he remembered the kitchen was as fatigue creeped up on him fast.

He didn't like acting the way his parents taught him to. There were advantages, sure, he often got his way when he most needed it or cut down on the runaround someone else might have been given in the same situation, but it was tiring and made him feel like shit. His father had wanted a perfect heir to his businesses, his mother had seen he'd never be one and given him her own family's skills since they suited him, but if he could put that behind him and simply be a man he could be proud of in his own way, then it was all worth it. They wouldn't have won in the end.

Steve put the bags on the kitchen island, moved towards the fridge to get the milk and such stored away, but something made him pause mid-step. The house was warm in late September, the bolt of the door to the backyard was unlocked, there was a candy bar wrapper sitting on the counter next to the coffee machine. A person had been in here, and recently, and Steve braced instinctively when he heard a soft step come from the entryway he'd just walked through.

He didn't have time to grab anything to shield himself, but he did turn around quick enough to catch a flash of dark hair and the glint of a hunting knife before the stranger barreled into him. He went with the momentum and gasped as he was slammed into the fridge, one hand pinning his shoulder while the other pressed the knife at the base of his neck. The man in front of him was probably around Steve's age, with long dark hair and darker clothes, and a horrible scar that spanned down from his cheek to beneath the collar of his shirt. Steve took a long, deliberate breath and allowed himself to be pressed into the cold steel, leaving his arms loose and palms open at his sides.

"Steeeve Harrington, expecting dear old dad to join you anytime soon?" the man asked, sneering down at him. Despite the front, Steve could feel the way the hand at his shoulder was shaking slightly, and he wondered if it was adrenaline or related to an injury.

"Afraid not. Got to bury him last month," that seemed to throw the stranger off; he hissed air in through his teeth in surprise and the knife shifted down a little further, until it was half laid flat on Steve's collarbone. "And who are you? Did my father owe you money or something?"

The stranger made a noise in his chest almost like a growl even as he bared his teeth and grinned, wide and menacing in Steve's face. And then -there was no other way to describe it -the man's irises sharpened into slits and flashed red in the early evening darkness, and the sheer surprise at seeing such a thing did well to keep Steve frozen in place under his hands and piercing gaze.

"Yeah, you could say that bastard owes me something," he pressed down and then drew away all at once -embarrassingly, Steve didn't expect the loss of support and dropped to the floor in a heap, coughing and holding a hand to his neck. "I'm Eddie Munson, formerly patient number Twenty Three," Steve whipped his head up and gaped; Eddie snorted bitterly at whatever else he saw there, and sheathed his knife in the holder at his hip. "We saw you waltz in and out of Hawkins Lab today, fucking escort service and everything. What do you say we have a little chat about all that?"

Steve coughed one last time and pushed himself up, watching Eddie watch him right back. In the hall he'd just come from there was more movement, and it became clear that whatever he'd walked into was not simply one man determined to confront him about his father's involvement in all this. There were more people in this town that knew about what the lab was doing, evidently.

"I'll talk to you," Steve promised. 'Not without the others' flashed through his mind again and he closed his eyes briefly. "I want to know what the hell's going on."